


The Burden of Guilt

by amyfortuna



Category: Little Women - Alcott
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo and Meg have a burden of guilt when Beth is sick. Laurie attempts to lift it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burden of Guilt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chiana606](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiana606/gifts).



"Any change, dear?" Meg came to the door of Beth's sickroom, and looked over at Jo. Both young faces were inexpressibly weary, and Beth lay quietly in a heavy sleep, too sick now to toss and turn as she had before.

"No," Jo said, shaking her head and covering Beth's hand with her own.

Meg came into the room and sat down on the other side of the bed, picking up Beth's other hand and gently stroking it. "She's still burning up. It's been a week since she visited the Hummels and her fever hasn't broken."

Jo put her head down on the hand that covered Beth's, and said, in a low choked voice, "I'm so afraid. If she should die, it would be my fault - I should have gone to see them instead of her, not blamed a cold I'd recovered from."

"It's just as much my fault as yours," Meg said. "We were both so selfish."

"We couldn't have known," Jo said, looking up again. "Why are we always punished out of proportion for our sins? We had a few moments of weakness and self-indulgence, and Beth could die because of it."

"We remember less the times we sinned and didn't suffer," Meg said quietly, brushing her hand over Beth's hot forehead. "We didn't learn anything then."

"This is too hard a lesson to learn." Jo was now openly weeping. "My Beth, my Beth!"

Meg stood up and made her way around the bed to her sister. "Come, dear, Hannah will be up in a few minutes, and it's been far too long since you've eaten or slept or left Beth's side. We can't have you getting sick too from exhaustion." She held out a hand. Jo kissed Beth's hand softly, then laid it back on the coverlet, and took Meg's hand. Numbly, she allowed herself to be led from the room.

The traces of tears could still be seen on her face ten minutes later, as Meg and Jo ate their dinner without seeming to taste the food at all. They were silent. Jo was still wrestling with her emotions in the wake of the guilt she felt, and Meg, although she had tried to put her own guilt aside, couldn't help but be concerned about both her sisters. Jo was likely to do something rash in her current mood and Beth was so ill that she was completely unlike herself.

Once they had finished dinner, Jo went to the kitchen, as Hannah was now installed in the sickroom for the night and someone had to do the washing up. Meg put on her coat and slipped out of the house.

Laurie was in, studying half-heartedly and staring toward the piano. Three days ago he had played, softly and gently like Beth did, thinking of her. He didn't know that his grandfather had listened to this with damp eyes, head in his hands; he only knew that the piano had been locked up since.

"What can I do, Meg? Please tell me - I'll do anything, anything at all if it will help," Laurie said, pacing up and down the room as if he were in a cage.

"I'm worried about Jo," Meg said. "She's taken it all to heart and fears that Beth's illness is a punishment."

"Why?" Laurie said.

"She thinks she should have gone to see the Hummels that night rather than Beth," Meg said, and started to speak further, but stopped. "I think I - "

She looked up at Laurie, took a breath. "We both think we each should have, rather than Beth."

Laurie stopped pacing and looked out the window toward the March house for a long moment, thinking hard. Then he turned back to regard Meg.

"I should have gone," he said. "The fault is mine, not yours or Jo's. I knew of them, knew your mother's request to keep looking in on them, and did not do so that day." He sighed, placing a hand on Meg's shoulder. "You were tired from a long day of keeping that house together, and Jo was ill herself at the time, whereas I? Hale, hearty, and idle."

"I know what you're trying to do," Meg began, shaking her head.

"Then let me do it! You have enough to bear, let me take this small burden from you at least. The fault was mine." Laurie raised an eyebrow and Meg couldn't help but smile a little.

"You must come comfort Jo," she said. "She needs you."

Laurie looked away, but Meg caught the sudden smile that leaped to his face. "Does she? Then I'll go anywhere for her sake." He sighed again, but this time dramatically and a bit playfully, turning back to glance at Meg, a touch of mischief in his eyes.

"She wouldn't like that if she heard it," Meg observed.

"Perhaps someday she will," Laurie responded. "But come! To Jo's rescue we fly!"

Meg and Laurie walked back together across the cold ground to where Jo was waiting, looking out Marmee's window into the late November darkness. The light from the house shone on her sad face and Laurie thought she had never looked more beautiful.

Once inside, Meg went back to the sickroom to see if Hannah needed anything before going to bed, but Laurie ventured into the sitting room where Jo was sewing in her corner of the couch, tears wetting the fabric now and again. She saw Laurie and glanced from him to the cushion he referred to as 'the sausage', which lay on the floor, and kicked it across the room.

He sat down next to her and she set her sewing down, looking up at him with a tear-stained face.

"I can't lose her, Teddy," Jo whispered. "I can't bear to think it's my fault Beth is sick, but if I'd gone instead of her, she'd be well now."

"Shhh," Laurie said, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known this would happen, and you were sick yourself."

"That doesn't make it less my fault. You and I went out for a drive that same day," Jo pointed out with uncharacteristic calm. "Besides, the Hummels were our responsibility, Marmee left them in our care..."

"They were my responsibility too," Laurie interrupted. "She left them to my grandfather's care as well, so I should have gone, so it's my fault Beth's sick, and I won't have you feeling guilty about it!"

Jo stared at him for an awestruck moment, then burst out laughing in a vaguely hysterical manner. It was some minutes before she could speak, and Laurie found himself laughing along with her, softly. Eventually her laughter became more natural and at last she hid her face in Laurie's shoulder. "I see your point," she said, muffled.

"It does no one any good for us to be feeling guilty about the Hummels," Laurie said, patting Jo's shoulder gently. "What happened happened and there's no changing it."

"I suppose you're right," Jo said, sitting back. "Thank you for sharing this burden with us."

"I will alway- " Laurie began, but at a look from Jo shut his mouth with a snap. "I mean to say, you're welcome."


End file.
